


TZ-1719 Was Here

by HSavinien



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Hope, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Pre-Canon, Rebellion, References to Jannah (Star Wars), Stormtrooper Culture (Star Wars), Stormtrooper Rebellion (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:02:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27166973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HSavinien/pseuds/HSavinien
Summary: FN-2187 discovers a mysterious message. (Knowing that someone before you chose other than what you've been taught makes it easier to consider doing the same.)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 22





	TZ-1719 Was Here

_ TZ-1719 was here.  _

FN-2187 stares at the message somebody left on the inside of the ductwork he's cleaning and swipes it experimentally with the scrubber. That doesn’t do anything. When he pulls his glove off to examine it by touch, he finds that the message has been scratched into the metal. He hasn't heard of any TZ Corps troopers assigned anywhere on the  _ Finalizer. _ Maybe it's left from a previous rotation. 

Who would bother leaving a message like that, though? And why? 

Who is TZ-1719?

That evening, he asks the barracks lieutenant about TZ Corps - nothing specific, just whether they’d been on  _ Finalizer _ recently. It’s a mistake. 

The officer looks down his nose at Eight-Seven and scoffs. “There have never been any TZ troopers assigned _here,_ 2187\. This is an elite posting and they were a failed batch; half of them washed out before they ever saw combat. Report to discipline for the insult to Admiral Hux’s command.”

FN-2187 salutes, and bites his tongue, and does as he’s told. It’s a long two hours of standing at attention, holding his weapon out as if for inspection, and his muscles are still twitching when he’s released to the remainder of his rest cycle. He crashes hard, barely registering the familiar strains of First Order messaging murmuring over the speaker system.

The message bothers him, though. It keeps niggling in his mind. If there have never been TZ troopers here, then TZ-1719  _ couldn’t _ have left the message themself. So who did? And again,  _ why _ ?

RG-5501 is the oldest trooper FN-2187 knows of who’s stationed on  _ Finalizer. _ FN-2187 requests permission to speak with her for small-group tactics advice during mess and the duty officer signs off on it. When he reports to the corner where she’s sitting, back to the walls, RG-5501 looks him up and down tiredly. “Small groups are slag. Get more troopers,” she tells him and returns to eating, putting it down efficiently and methodically.

“Yes, sir,” he says. “Have you ever heard of TZ Corps being stationed here?”

Her face does something he can’t quite interpret. “Never were, never will be. TZ’s wiped.”

“Wiped?” He lowers his voice. “I heard a bunch of them washed out, but…”

“The rest were reconditioned, split up, and assigned to new corps. There is no TZ Corps. Where did you hear about them that you don’t know that?”

He’s in the deep kark anyway if she decides to report him. “There was a message scratched inside a duct. ‘TZ-1719 was here.’ I never heard about them beyond that.”

Her expression shutters like someone’s knocked out a power supply somewhere inside her. “That’s Rebel messaging. Don’t repeat that, ever.”

Eight-Seven flinches. “Sorry, I didn’t know! I won’t say anything.”

“Look, kid. If you want to survive, keep your mouth shut and your head down and get out of the way when officers and sparkies get excited. She washed out, that’s all you need to-” RG-5501 stops and bites her tongue and says, barely above a breath. “She rebelled. They refused normal orders and defected. Half the squad. Nobody likes to hear about defectors. _Forget it._ You understand?”

“Yes, sir.” FN-2187 schools his face into correct, parade passivity. 

RG-5501 nods and goes back to her food. “Jet off, kid.”

He does. He doesn’t forget, though.

* * *

Somewhere in a First Order barracks, three years later, a cadet rolls underneath the bottom bunk, wipes blood from their mouth, and stares up at a message scratched into the metal frame.  _ FN-2187 was here. _   



End file.
